Three Wise Monkeys
by Fyrie
Summary: Sort of a prequel to 'The Eighth Weasley' - Arthur Weasley meets Rupert Giles & Ethan Rayne on his way to Hogwarts. Pity the teachers. Seriously. (Also our boys are gutter-mouths. Be warned) UPDATED - Ch. 3 added - 6th Nov.
1. Boys Will Be Boys

Three Wise Monkeys - Chapter One 

Boys Will Be Boys

Notes: This is a kind-of-prequel to The Eighth Weasley. I got to wondering about what Rupert Giles, Ethan Rayne and Arthur Weasley were like at school, while sitting on a train (I don't know what it is about trains, but good grief...the number of ideas I have when on them...I do believe JKR was in a similar vehicle when she came up with Harry). Before I knew it, I was planning out their first meeting in my head and now, here's chapter one.

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The platform was packed to overflowing, pupils of all ages clambering into the gleaming red steam train that was nestled in a billowing nest of purple and silver smoke, highlighted by the lights of lamp posts on the platform.

A lot of parents were saying good-bye and vanishing immediately, leaving their older children to get settled, while the parents of the first years were hanging around to make sure that their little ones got away all right.

"Quick! Nicky! Mark's up ahead! I heard someone say that he brought his parrot with him!"

"Instead of an owl?"

"Coming through! Prefect coming through!"

"Don't you wave that thing in my face! I don't care if you're a prefect! We're not at school yet!"

People were bustling this way and that, some of the older students tracking down their friends, shouting greetings from one end of the platform to the other, while the guards tried to make sure everyone got on board all right.

"Oi! Mind where you're pushing that thing!" 

A small, scrawny boy with unruly brown hair was the one who yelled out, when an slightly shorter but equally scrawny boy with flaming red hair had collided with him, as he emerged through the barrier from King's Cross.

"Sorry!"

"Bloody hell! That bloody hurt!" the first cursed, hopping up and down on one leg, clutching his bruised ankle.

"Didn't see you there!" the red-haired boy apologised. "It's my first time...sorry..."

"No bother, mate," The brown-haired boy grinned a little, lowering his ankle to the ground, studying the other boy. Both of them were clad in scruffy jeans and T-shirts, although the red-haired boy was wearing scruffy black robes. "My first time too. The name's Rupert. Rupert Giles."

"Arthur Weasley," Pushing his trolley out of the way of the crossing between the muggle and wizard platforms, Arthur yelped as it almost skidded straight off the edge of the platform.

"Watch out!" Rupert grabbed for it, stabilising it. 

Arthur's face went beetroot. "I always get the trolley with the dodgy wheel," he grumbled, looking around as another figure stumbled through the barrier. "Dad, can you steer the trolley for me?"

"Now, Arthur," the tall, balding man sighed in a voice that spoke of patience wearing thin. "You were the one who wanted to push your trolley and anyway, you're at the train now. You don't need my help."

"But dad..."

"Arthur."

Arthur scowled. "I'll push the trolley."

Beside him, Rupert Giles snickered, having discarded his own trolley a few minutes before, his trunk in the luggage van. "Nice to see someone has a dad as stubborn as mine," he muttered to Arthur, who grinned.

"You on your own?"

Rupert nodded. "My dad sent me through here on my own," he answered, pulling a face. "Hit the barrier three times with the trolley before I managed to get in. The guard on that side was getting a bit...peeved."

"I'll bet he was! He gave me a funny look when I dad if he would go through the barrier first."

"It isn't as easy as it looks," Rupert admitted ruefully. "I think I've got bruises across my tummy, where the bar on my trolley hit it."

Turning the trolley, his father walking behind them, Arthur glanced at Rupert, who seemed quite happy to tag along with him, looking around the busy platform. "D'you know where you're sitting yet?"

"Dunno. I just dumped my stuff with the van," He nodded to the luggage wagon, which was surrounded by various pupils, each of whom was making sure their trunk got picked up and put in. 

"Mind if I sit with you?" the red-haired boy asked hopefully. "I don't know anyone whose starting this year..."

Rupert looked relieved at that. "I don't know anyone at all," he said.

"Seriously?"

"Never even knew there was a school for magic," he admitted sheepishly. "Got this letter in the post that said I'd been accepted to a school of magic and that I had to reply by owl...I didn't have a bloody clue what I was meant to be doing."

"You're a muggle-born?" Arthur's eyes had gotten round. "Blimey! I've never met a muggle-born before!"

"You make me sound like I'm a rare breed or something," Rupert laughed, as they negotiated their way to the luggage van and Arthur's father helped the guard to haul the hefty, brass-bound leather trunk up into the packed van.

Arthur looked slightly embarrassed, spots of pink appearing on his cheeks, the tips of his ears going red. "Um... I didn't mean it like that," he said. "It's just that my dad and mum... they're both from wizarding families. We never really got a chance to meet muggle-borns."

"Don't worry about it. You're the first wizard that I've ever met," Rupert said amiably. "I'll probably be rubbish and you can help me with all this magic crap."

Arthur's father cast a dubious look at the brown-haired boy, as he returned to stand over them both. "Would you mind not using language like that in front of my son, young man?"

Green eyes - wide with innocence - looked up at Mr Weasley. "Sorry sir," he said so meekly and sincerely that even Arthur was convinced. "I-I-I'm not used to everything here yet. I-I-I didn't realise it was rude."

Mr Weasley appeared appeased, the creases in his brow smoothing, his thinned lips widening into a smile. He clapped Rupert firmly on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll learn quickly, young man. My son will help you along, if you like."

"Oh, I would sir!" Rupert sounded positively breathless with excitement. "I would like that very much."

Arthur was staring in shock as his father grabbed his shoulder and steered them both down the platform, directing them to what looked like a vacant compartment in a carriage, opening the door.

"Now, in you get boys," Mr Weasley said, with a jovial smile at Rupert, who was blinking around, a look of infantile wonder on his face, as he eagerly clambered into the compartment. "Arthur, I want you to take good care of..."

"Rupert Giles, sir," Rupert said earnestly, his face serious.

"All right, I want you to take care of young Rupert, Arthur."

"Yes, dad."

"And enjoy your term, son," his father continued. "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time. Your mother and I will see you at Christmas. Good bye."

The door was slammed firmly and Arthur turned to stare at Rupert, who was waving cutely in the direction of his father. "What the hell was that about?" he demanded, staring at the boy next to him.

As soon as Mr. Weasley was out of sight, Rupert's face split in a very wicked grin that was anything but the cutesy expression he had turned on Mr Weasley. 

"Well," he said, green eyes dancing with devilish mischief. "I couldn't have him thinking that he was sending his son off to school with a little trouble-maker, could I? He would have lost the rest of his hair!"

"You...he _liked_ you!"

Rupert dropped down onto one of the two broad seats that spread the width of the compartment, swinging his feet up onto the checked pattern of blue, red and green, a grin on his face. 

"Yeah, he did, didn't he?" Brushing his knuckles on his chest, he smirked. "Damn, I'm good."

"He...he really liked you...and you..."

"I pulled a lovely big old bag of cotton wool over dear, deluded daddy's eyes?"

Arthur nodded. "Exactly...how?"

"Practise, Art, and lots of it," Interlocking his hands behind his head, Rupert Giles stretched out on the seat. "I can get any adult to believe anything I want, just by doing that act I just pulled on your old man. Well...almost. Anyone except my father."

"It really works that well?" Arthur asked.

"I..." Rupert's face contorted and he looked like he was about to cry, sitting upright, his hands covering his face. "Oh God...I can't keep it a secret anymore," he whispered in a shaking voice. 

"What? What is it?" Arthur was horrified. What had he said? The poor muggle-born looked like he was about to break down in tears. Was it something about his father? A problem at home?

"I...oh...it's...its so humiliating..." Rupert whispered, his voice breaking.

Squatting down beside the boy's seat, Arthur touched his shoulder. "What is?"

"Y-y-you'll laugh..."

"No, Rupert, I won't! What is it? What's wrong?"

"I-I-I-I can't b-b-believe it..."

Arthur was really very concerned, his forehead wrinkled, brows raised. "What?"

Rupert's hands fell away from his face and glinting green eyes winked at the startled Arthur. "That you fell for that, you twat!" he crowed, throwing his head back and laughing uproariously.

The other boy gaped at him. "You were acting?"

"You doubted it?" Snickering, Rupert wiped a tear of mirth from his cheek. "God, you are really going to be a challenge..."

"A-a challenge?"

Turning in his seat to face the squatting Arthur, Rupert Giles laid his hands on the red-haired boy's shoulders. 

"I have decided," he said in a serious voice. "That you are in dire need of my skill and wisdom. It'll take hard work on both sides...mainly on yours, though, but I will bring you to the high standard which I have attained."

"High-standard of...what exactly?"

The smile on Rupert's face was devious and proud in one. "You'll see, Art, once we begin your training. You should be honoured. I haven't taught anyone the tricks of my trade before."

The train jolted beneath them and Arthur - startled - fell on his rear on the floor, still staring at Rupert with the expression of one, who thought that they might have just put their lives in the hands of a homicidal maniac.

"Oh, don't worry," Offering a hand to the fallen boy, Rupert grinned. "It won't hurt a bit. After all, what's life at a boarding school, if you don't get away with things that everyone else gets done for?"

"You mean your trade...you're..."

"Rupert Giles, Professional Trouble-Maker and Prank-Master at your service," He hauled Arthur to his feet and the red-haired boy dropped back on the seat opposite the brown-haired boy. "And I get away with it too."

"What kind of things have you done?"

Swinging his feet back up onto the seat and leaning against the swaying wall of the carriage, Giles folded his hands behind his head again, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Oh, most of the classics," he replied. "Tripwires, tied-together shoe-laces, buckets on doors...everything you can do without magic..." A wicked twinkle sparkled in his eyes. "That brings a whole new level to the game." 

Both boys looked up at the door on the opposite side of the carriage as it was jerked open, revealing the corridor of the train and a tall, gangly sandy-haired boy, who grinned at them and dropped into the space on the seat next to Arthur.

"All right?"

"And who might you be?" His eyes half-closed, Rupert looked like he was surveying the boy from beneath his lids.

"Rayne, Ethan Rayne."

"And did we say you could join us?" Rupert's eyes opened lazily and he regarded the sandy-haired boy lazily. "After all, it would only have been polite, since we were sitting in here and you...well, weren't."

"Listen to the toff talking," the new arrival snickered. "Look, mate, there weren't any other seats free and since I don't see your name written on this compartment, I think I'll stay here, so if you don't mind..." 

He, too, swung his feet up onto the seats with a cocksure grin.

Even though he hadn't known Rupert long, Arthur could recognise that he was irritated. His green eyes narrowed a tiny bit, the muscles in his cheeks tensing, as he turned his head to fully face the boy.

"Yeah, actually," he murmured. "I do mind."

"Tough tits," Ethan replied.

Arthur couldn't help giggling. He had never heard language like the stuff that his two companions were using. 

While Rupert had sounded totally normal moments before, as soon as this new bloke had shown face, he seemed to have taken on an upper-crust attitude, looking down his nose at Rayne.

The sandy-haired boy seemed aware of it and didn't seem to care in the least. He looked like he was the kind of cheeky, sneaky East End boy who was used to getting away with anything and everything.

Rupert slowly sat up, lowering his feet off the seat. "Well, there are two of us and one of you."

Rayne's eyes scanned over Arthur, who suddenly felt very small and insignificant, then glanced at Giles. "Right," he drawled, still smirking. "I'm pissing my pants with fear now."

Rupert stood up, eyes flashing. "You should be."

"What? You expect me to be afraid of a shrimp like you?" Ethan rose as well, hands balled in fists on his hips. He was a good few inches taller than the boy facing him, although Rupert was a little broader. "You wish, mate."

"I don't recall being a 'mate' of yours."

"Looks, you two, why don't you sit down and we can sort this out..." Arthur started to get up, but one of Rayne's hands came out without the taller boy having to even look around and pushed him firmly back down in his seat. "Hoi!"

"Button it, red."

"Now just a minute!"

Both Giles and Rayne looked at him. 

"Just a minute?" Rupert groaned. "For Chrissake, Arthur! At least add a 'bloody' in there or something!"

Arthur reddened. "I don't swear."

"That's not swearing, Art," Rupert sighed. "That's an explicit expression of your mood, it lets people know that you're angry and not just being polite and that's what this prat is about to be."

"Doubt it, shrimp."

"Watch your mouth, you skinny nit."

Rayne smirked. "Gonna make me?"

"You don't need to resort to violence!"

"Shut up, Art." "Shut up, red."

Both of the other boys spoke as one, glaring at each other.

"Well, nancy, gonna stand by that mouth of yours..."

Rupert made no verbal reply.

Instead, he punched Ethan on the nose.

Uproar ensued, as they both immediately lunged at each other crashing to the floor in the middle of the compartment, fists and feet flying, as each of them tried to bash the other harder.

"You blue-blood snot-nose snob!"

"At least I know my parents, you wanking poof!"

"I'm not a sodding bastard, you arsewipe!"

Arthur yanked his legs up onto the seat as they tussled, barely able to tell where one ended and the other began. "C'mon, you two..."

"And your mother, red!"

"Eh?" Arthur was bemused.

"Probably a streetwalker at King's Cross!"

The red-haired boy wasn't quite following the train of thought. Yes, his mother walked on a street...

"He's calling your mum a bloody whore, Art!" Rupert yelled.

"You WHAT!?"

Rayne yelled in a combination of anger and glee as a second pair of fists started bashing him. "About bloody time, Red!"

"Don't you call my mother things like that!"

"Whatcha gonna do, Red?"

"Kick his bony arse, Art!" Rupert bellowed enthusiastically.

"You manky git!"

"And your father!"

"That was imaginative," Arthur snorted.

Rupert butted in. "Your father is the bloody Prince of Wales!"

"Right, mate! That's it! You are dead meat!"

"What on earth are you DOING?"

All three froze where they were, in a heap on the floor at the shrill voice from the door and they raised their eyes to see a girl, who was about the same age as them, standing over them.

Her small button nose was wrinkled in distaste, her brown eyes narrowed down at them, a cloud of candy-floss-like red hair floating around her peaches-and-cream-coloured face, which was liberally dashed with freckles.

She was wearing an impeccable uniform, a pleated black skirt which stopped just below her knees, thick white socks reaching her knees. She was wearing a white shirt, a Hogwarts tie and a black cardigan, all beneath her black robes.

All in all, she looked like the kind of girl who would make sure that every teachers knew if you were up to something: a busybody, ideal prefect-material, probably with the brains to match.

The three boys exchanged looks.

Arthur was pinned on his belly, but his right arm was hooked around Ethan's neck, the taller boy sprawled over the red head's back, Rupert sitting on top of Ethan's legs, his fist paused mid-swing towards Rayne's face.

Ethan was the one who gave the blatantly evident answer. "Obviously, luv, we're fighting," he said in a derisive tone. "Now be a good girl and bugger off so we can get on with it."

Apparently, that wasn't the best thing to say.

The girl's eyes narrowed even further, her pink lips pursing. "Don't you give me your cheek," she warned dangerously, pointing a small finger down at them. "You're disrupting the whole carriage."

"Easy solution, miss," Rupert put in in his smoothest tones. "I would suggest moving to another carriage."

Her arms folded over her chest, she scowled at them. "I was in the carriage first and I am not about to move because a bunch of...boys," she said the word as if they were the lowest form of scum in the world. "Couldn't keep their hands off each other."

"Look," Arthur tilted his head back to look at her. unfortunately, he was so far forward, that he ended up with the perfect angle up her skirt and blushed scarlet. "If-if-if we want to-to fight, w-w-we can!"

The girl's glare made them all flinch.

"I'm warning you," she said, her voice reminding each of them of their mothers for some unknown reason. "If you don't stop this...stupid game, I'm going to have to stop it for you!"

Again, the three boys exchanged looks.

"Right, luv," Ethan smirked.

"If you don't mind," Rupert added. "We have a fight to finish."

"Yeah..." Arthur mumbled, trying not to stare at her white knickers and giggle.

Not bothering to wait for her approval, it was almost as if someone had hit the play button on a frozen video and Rupert's punch finally landed on Ethan's face, while Ethan slapped Arthur around the head.

"That's it!"

They were vaguely aware of the girl yelling above them.

Unfortunately for them, they didn't, however, notice her flinging off her heavy outer robes, her expression dangerous, as she rolled the long sleeves of her cardigan and shirt up over her elbows.

Had they known, they might have been able to avoid her wrath.

As the case was, they didn't notice until it was too late.


	2. Girl Talk

Three Wise Monkeys - Chapter Two

Girl Talk

Notes: I have to say that I love the boys. The boys are fun and mad creatures, with wonderfully colourful mouths on them. However, I have to, albeit awkwardly, introduce a couple of females to be friends with that Hermione-like little red-head who so rudely butted in on the amateur display of forthcoming testosterone poisoning. 

Oh and Morrigan isn't a Mary-Sue, honestly. You'll just have to work up to finding out who she actually is. Bear in mind that people tend to get all manners of weird nicknames at normal school and something tells me that Hogwarts is the same.

Hence, I apologise for not much happening.

_____________________

"What happened, Rigs?"

The red-haired girl smoothed down her robes as she re-entered the compartment that she was sharing with two other girls. She sniffed. "They were fighting," she said, shaking her head in disgust. "I've never seen such an immature group..."

Yanking the door shut behind her with enough ferocity to make the window pane shake, she paused to wipe a smear of red off her knuckles, before flinging herself down in the forward-facing seat, next to one of her oldest friends.

All three of the girls in the compartment were on their way to their first year at Hogwarts and were desperately excited about it.

"Was it them what was swearing?" Cathlee Jacobs asked eagerly. She was one of Morrigan's friends from childhood, a dark-skinned, dark-eyed annoyingly pretty girl from a mixed marriage: white muggle mother from Essex and black African wizard father, who had worked for the Zimbabwe Ministry.

She and Morrigan had been introduced through one of Morrigan's many aunts, who was married to a muggle man, called Michael. Michael had transpired to be the best friend of Cathlee's mother and they had brought the two girls together. 

They had hit it off immediately and had remained firm friends since, despite their very different natures, looks and backgrounds.

Morrigan was confident, clever, resilient, tart-tongued and stubborn, while Cathlee was quieter when around strangers and preferred to follow a set leader, usually Morrigan. The smaller dark girl looked up to the red head with no small measure of awe and almost fan-like adoration.

The red head for her part, had taken the midget of a girl under her wing. They were a painfully cute pair with Cathlee's exotic dark looks contrasting so dramatically with Morrigan's pale skin and shocking red hair.

Even in their voices, Cathlee still lived in Essex and had the accent to match, while Morrigan's parents had moved to live near Oxford when she was seven, unfortunately surrounded by a lot of upper-class people, which did strange things to Morrigan's accent, since both her parents were from Kent.

"They were swearing and yes, Cath," Morrigan Henshaw sighed. "Boys."

"What did you say to make 'em stop?" Cathlee demanded.

Morrigan looked primly at the two girls. "I just made them see things from my point of view," she said.

"We heard ye shouting," Ginger McKinnon said dryly. 

No one quite knew why the Scottish Ginger was actually called Ginger. It was a nickname she had had since Morrigan and Cathlee had known her, for the past five years, after running into her in Diagon Alley with their parents. 

It was allegedly an abbreviation of her full name combined with her appearance - Virginia - but it didn't make any sense considering that she had long, blonde hair unlike Morrigan's shocking orange. 

It had gotten to the stage that she claimed that her mother was making dinner when she gave birth and she had asked Ginger's father if he wanted ginger with his dinner, so when he was given his food, the baby was brought through and he had assumed her name was Ginger, so Ginger she was from there on in.

Either way, it made an interesting topic of conversation. 

"I would never dream of shouting!"

Cathlee snickered. "Yeah, right, Rigs," she laughed. "Don't forget that we know what you're like."

Morrigan looked a little indignant. "I simply raised my voice, so what I was saying could penetrate their thick skulls."

"Ye yelled at them," Ginger stated, agreeing with Cathlee's assessment.

"Okay, yes, I yelled at them."

"And?" Cathlee prompted, grinning.

"What?"

"You know we ain't gonna believe that you just yelled at them..."

Morrigan stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Why does no one ever believe that I'm a nice, quiet person?" she asked petulantly. "I mean, I've got the angelic looks, so why does everyone think I'm always up to mischief?"

"Because ye usually are?" Ginger said, grinning.

"Well, I s'pose that is true..."

"Because they know your brothers?"

That made the red-haired girl grin.

Her family were fairly notorious in some circles, because even though there were only four of them, a small number compared to her aunts and uncles, they drove her poor mother to distraction with their natural aptitude for misbehaving. 

William and Charles, her two elder brothers, had been both smart and clowns, a rare and terrifying combination for their baby sister. 

And for their teachers.

As far as Morrigan knew, one of the teachers had retired immediately after hearing the news that Charles would be joining William as a pupil as Hogwarts, although she knew it was probably just one of the brothers' boasts.

At twelve and nine years older than her, most of their tricks that they had developed had been tested on the unfortunate Morrigan, when they were reaching their later years at school.

Georgiana, her elder sister, wasn't as bad with the tricks and, much to Morrigan's glee, she regularly pummelled their brothers for laying booby traps in her bed. 

Unlike Morrigan, who was fairly short and looked like she was going to remain so even when she started to actually grow, Georgie was tall, skinny and the walking, talking definition of a tom boy.

She was in between William and Charles, age wise, but still always had time for her little sister, especially when teaching Morrigan how to know if there was a trick coming and how to avoid or reverse it on the tricksters.

Charles had never realised that she knew, even when he had been turned into various critters after his spells and traps backfired on him.

All of them had attended Hogwarts before Morrigan, but that didn't worry her, because she knew that she was taking all that she had learned from every one of her infamous siblings with her.

If anyone even dared to mess with her, or her friends, they wouldn't know what had hit them.

"Okay, okay, I taught them all that fighting was bad," Morrigan admitted wryly. Her two friends exchanged knowing grins. "Stop that! You know that annoys me and I'm already all wound up!"

"Sorry, Rigs," Ginger smirked.

"No you're not."

Cathlee giggled. "You know us too well."

"That's what worries me," Morrigan replied.

***

"Good afternoon, dears."

"Oh! Hello!"

The plump witch who brought the food trolley around the carriages smiled in on the three pretty little first years. "Is there anything I can get for you, ladies?" she asked, glad to see that at least one set of first years were behaving.

After seeing the boys in the next compartment...

She sighed mentally. 

There always had to be a group that didn't behave.

"Ooh! What do you got?" The dark-skinned little girl bound over to look at everything on the trolley. She was an adorable little creature, small for her age, with a mass of curly black hair.

"Everything you could possibly want," she replied with a smile.

"Cigarettes?" the red haired girl asked, grinning. The trolley-witch's lips pursed and she frowned at the girl, who grinned a little wider. "Well, you did say that you had everything we could want and I had to ask..."

The trolley-witch studied the girl. 

She looked like she would be a very proper student, with her ironed robes and tidy uniform already on and very respectable-looking. However, there was a twinkle in her eyes that suggested otherwise...

There was something familiar about the mischievous look in those brown eyes, but she hadn't seen anything like them for the last two years, since young Charles Henshaw had finished school.

Unless...

"You wouldn't happen to be a Henshaw, would you, dear?"

The girl's wide grin looked like it was about to break free of the constraints of her face. "Yes, last of the Henshaw kids," she replied cheerfully. "I'm Morrigan and yes, I know its an utterly bizarre name."

"Your mum liked to give you odd names, didn't she?" the blonde girl noted.

"The girlie names anyway. I could have been Guineviera or Morrigan. I don't know which is worse," Both of them approached the trolley, where the dark girl was eagerly grabbing little packets of sweets. 

"Want some Bertie Bott's Beans, Rigs?"

"You've got Bertie Bott's Beans? Crikey! I haven't had those for an absolute age! I'll have to have some!"

Immediately, each of them started rooting through their pockets, digging out enough money to buy a small box of beans each, as well as some cauldron cakes, a couple of chocolate frogs and pumpkin juice.

"Don't forget that you still have the big feast to come, when you arrive at the school this evening," the witch reminded them. "I wouldn't recommend that you eat too much just now."

Morrigan Henshaw smiled up at her. "Thank you!"

The plump witch couldn't help returning the smile, as the girls paid for their treats, then returned to their seats, comparing what they had and she closed the door to move further down the corridor.

They were certainly an adorable little trio and so well-behaved...

Now, if only those wretched boys...

She sighed again.

Fortunately, she didn't have to deal with them until they were returning home, but she certainly felt sorry for their teachers.

***

"D'you think I'm all right?"

"Cath, you look fab."

Cathlee looked down at her robes. They were enormous on her tiny form and they were the smallest size that Madam Malkins' shop had in stock. "I look like a ruddy great walking tent!"

"Don't be daft, Cath," Ginger laughed. The smallest of their number actually smiled, a little comforted. "If anything, ye look like a ruddy small walking tent!" She ducked a bean that Cathlee hurled at her.

Into the final ten minutes of the train journey to Hogsmeade, they had all been changing and getting ready for their arrival at the station and the excitement in the air was palpable, surging through the whole train.

"Ladies!" Morrigan yelled, dodging the low flying beans. "I just got my hair to lie evenly on both sides! Don't make a mess of it now!"

Ebony eyes met green, grins exchanged, then the tall blonde and small dark girl both turned to the red head with a matching wicked smirk on their faces, as Morrigan immediately groaned.

"Fine! Make a mess of it!" she sighed in resignation, spreading her arms by her sides, as both her friends jumped at her and started fluffing her already-immense mass of vivid red hair. "For the record, I hate you both."

"We love you too, Rigs," Cathlee laughed, flinging her arms around Morrigan. "We are gonna have a ball this year!"

Adding her arms to the hug, towering over both of her petite friends, Ginger sighed dramatically, "_If_ we're put in the same house..."

"We better be..."

Morrigan nodded. "I'd rather stay with my two best friends than with a bunch of strangers. If I end up in the same house as those...ruffians in the compartment next door, I think I would rather go home."

"Liar," Ginger said with a chuckle. "Ye'd just bug the pants off them."

"I'm awfully good at that too, you know..."

Cathlee rolled her eyes. "Obviously, Rigs," she said dryly. "We're only your best mates. We only have to put up with you."

"And even if we do get put in different houses, we'll still be best friends," Ginger said, kissing Morrigan firmly on the forehead. "Ye're not gonnae get away from us that easily."

"Where'd'you think we'll get put?" Cathlee demanded excitedly.

"My bet'll have Rigs in Slytherin," Ginger smirked, avoiding a swat from her flame-haired friend. "What? Ye expected me to be nice to ye? Ye're annoying, loud, rude and stubborn. Where else could ye go?"

"I'm a Gryff," the red head said huffily. "My mum and dad were both Gryffs. So were all my aunts and uncles. So were Will, Charles and Georgie. Something tells me that I'm going to follow the pattern."

"You hope," Cathlee snickered. "Ooh! Imagine the looks on their faces if you do end up as a Slyth! I dunno where I'll be, seeing as mum and dad didn't go to Hogwarts. I wanna be a Gryff as well..."

"Doesn't everyone?" Ginger laughed. "I mean, Hufflepuff...the name of the house is such a mouthful...Slytherin...yuck. Snakes. I s'pose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, if all else fails..."

"What about the prats in the next compartment?"

The three girls paused for a moment and listened.

They could hear various colourful words from the boys next door.

As one, all three looked at each other and said, "Slytherins."

***

"Firs' years this way! Firs' years!"

Keeping her arms securely looped through Cathlee and Ginger's, Morrigan looked around for the owner of the deep, booming voice, her teeth chattering together with the cold already, her nose numb.

"C-c-c-cold," Cathlee mumbled, gripping onto Morrigan for dear life. Both girls knew she would probably be carried off in the wave of bigger people, if she lost her grip on the red head.

"Firs' years!"

"That way!" Ginger pointed further down the platform.

She was the only one who didn't seem to be bother by the biting winds that were tearing through the small station. Morrigan supposed that was because the girl was from this far North, so she was used to the cold weather.

They started moving, but something yanked around Morrigan's cold ankle and she tripped, caught by both her friends. She heard someone laughing behind her and straightened up, turning around with a glare.

The brown-haired, green-eyed boy from the compartment next to theirs was standing right behind her, a rather shocked look on his face, both his companions several paces behind him, laughing loudly. 

One of Morrigan's hands lashed out and slapped him hard.

The boy staggered, his hand coming to his cheek. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded, looking startled. 

"You tripped me, you idiot!"

"I bloody well did not!" he spluttered. He did look genuinely shocked by the accusation, shaking his head. "I-I-I was walking and I-I-I must have caught your ankle by mistake..."

"Rigs, leave him be," Ginger suggested, glaring at the boy, who was rubbing his reddened cheek. The Scottish girl's green eyes flicked over his face and the faces of the other two boys and she smirked. "So those three were our neighbours, eh?"

"They were," Morrigan glared at the one in front of her, but he still looked utterly mortified by having tripped her. Sniffing, she swung around, taking Ginger and Cathlee's arms again. "C'mon."

Cathlee glanced back at the three boys, the red- and the sandy-haired ones crowding in on the brown-haired one, apparently no longer fighting amongst themselves. A snicker escaped her and she turned back to her friends.

"Rigs," she said accusingly. "I thought you said that you only yelled at them."

"I didn't say that," Morrigan replied, glowering, as she stormed onwards, dragging both of the girls with her. Her cheeks were scarlet from the embarrassment of almost falling on her face on the crowded platform.

"I..."

"Cath, you said that you thought I had probably done more than yell," the red head growled, clearly more than a little irritated with their annoying neighbours. "I just didn't bother to tell you yes or no..."

Ginger kept a grip on her red-haired friend. "Don't let them know that they're annoying you, Rigs," she advised in a low voice. "It'll just make them worse and more determined to get back at you." 

Morrigan made a growling sound. She had decided, it was clear to her friends, that she really didn't like any of the three boys who had had the nerve to made a noise in the compartment next to hers. 

Pushing ahead, she crashed into the back of the rest of the first years, almost knocking a blond-haired boy off his feet.

"Rigs!" Cathlee and Ginger both cried out, the taller of the two grabbing the boy's arms before he could fall.

"Get off!" Startled, Ginger released the boy's arms and he straightened up, turning to stare at her. "What on earth did you do that for?" he demanded, but - to her friends surprise - Ginger didn't say anything.

The blonde girl was staring at the boy, open-mouthed.

Morrigan groaned and Cathlee slapped her forehead.

The boy certainly had a look going for him and unfortunately, it happened to be the look that Ginger appreciated. His silver-blond hair was around shoulder-length, well-groomed, around his shoulders that were draped with expensive robes that did nothing but make him look good.

However, Morrigan didn't like the cold arrogant look on his pale, pointed face, his mouth twisted into what it apparently thought was a smile, but it looked more like a smirk. His grey eyes skimmed over Ginger's face. 

"She was stopping you from falling on your arse, mate," Cathlee answered the boy's question, giving Ginger a sharp nudge in the ribs.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "And who might you be?"

"Cathlee Jacobs," A skinny brown hand was held out to him. he stared at it coldly until it was pulled back. "Um..."

"Ginger," Raising her hand, Morrigan pushed her friend's mouth closed, still unable to shake the bad feeling she got when she looked at the blond boy. "You're going to catch a fly if you keep standing like that."

Ginger blinked, still staring at the boy, who was - for once - the same height as her, a blush rising up her cheeks. "I-I-I...ye were going to fall...I-I didn't want ye to...ye know... look daft..."

"How very considerate."

"It was no bother."

The boy's lips lifted in a little more of that cool smirk. 

"I see," he extended a black-gloved hand to her, which she shook with her trembling one. "If you are in Slytherin, I would be pleased to make your closer acquaintance... what did you say your name was?"

"She didn't," Morrigan interrupted, not liking the look on Ginger's face. Couldn't she see the blond boy was an utter slimeball?

"Gin-Ginger...I-I-I mean Virginia McKinnon."

"Virginia..." he murmured, blatantly ignoring Morrigan and Cathlee. He gave her that slight smirk and Morrigan groaned when Ginger released a sigh. "I'm Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy."

"And that wasn't at ALL rehearsed," Morrigan rolled her eyes.

Grey eyes flashed at her dangerously. "And you are?"

"No one you want to mess with the friends of," she replied sweetly.

"Is that so?"

"It is, and for your information, I would be Morrigan Henshaw and Ginger is my very good friend, so keep your mitts off."

Malfoy studied her. "Is that a warning?"

"Mmm. Or you could say a threat," Yanking Ginger's hand out of Malfoy's, she smiled at him, ignoring her blonde friend's whimper of protest. "Now, if you don't mind, we have to go and get our transport over to Hogwarts."

Lucius Malfoy's eyes locked with the red-haired girl's. "You don't want to make enemies this early, Henshaw," he said softly.

"Oh, I don't make enemies," Morrigan said, smiling coldly at him, as she steered Ginger away from him. "They just seem to appear..." Her eyes flicked to the trio of boys, who were getting closer and she mentally groaned. "Apparently en masse."

Any reply that Malfoy would have made was cut off by the booming voice sounding above them.

"Ri', firs' years! Follow me!" 


	3. Of House and Home

Three Wise Monkeys - Chapter Three

Of House And Home

Notes: To Hogwarts we go. 

Our rampant pack of heroes, heroines and that annoying blond boy who accidentally ended up in the story (gee...am I obsessed much?) get taken to the place that is to be their new home, for the duration of their education. 

Time for an evil chuckle methinks...

Hogwarts is never going to be the same again.

______________________________

Professor Minerva McGonagall could not recall seeing anything quite like the scene that greeted her as she opened the front doors of the entrance hall on the new group of first years.

Caught between the chilly, clear blue moonlight that was washing over the grounds outside and the flickering torchlight that made the Entrance Hall look warm and inviting, Hagrid stopped on the step, his eyes twinkling at her.

McGonagall felt her lips thinning already, which was a bad sign. Normally, she could at least wait until the feast...

In her fifteen years of teaching at the school, she had only ever seen one person, who had had the misfortune of falling in the lake, on the short boat-trip across the clear, glassy water.

To see two of them, held away from one another by the hands of Hagrid, one kicking and scratching to try and free herself, the other one trying to wriggle out of his robes gripped in the giant fists, was quite absurd.

They were both soaked to the skin, the girl's long, red hair hanging in strings around her rosy face, the tip of her button-nose scarlet. The boy's sweater and shirt had been hauled up, but he didn't seem as aware of the cold as the girl.

"Let me down! Let me down!" the girl lashed out with a foot, trying to kick the boy.

"This isn't funny!" the boy added, tugging futilely at the hand that was holding him.

"Professor McGonagall," Despite the fight Hagrid was preventing, the deputy Head Mistress could almost hear the amusement in the huge man's voice. The giant of a groundskeeper held out the two first years. "These two had a bit of an accident."

"Accident, my foot!" The girl kicked out again and hit the boy in the shin. "He pushed me overboard!"

"I did no such thing!" Hopping up and down on one leg, the boy clutched his shin. "I would never dream of pushing someone into the water! If I did, why did I jump in to pull you back out?"

The girl's eyes flashed at him. She had been hauled back again by Hagrid, who was shaking with thunderous laughter. "Because you tripped on the seat, you ninny! I saw you try to look over to see what you had done! You tripped and fell in!"

"I can not believe you would accuse me again! First you slap me on the platform and now, you accuse me of trying to what? Drown you?"

McGonagall, despite quashing a chuckle herself, cleared her throat. "Ahem?" Both the boy and girl fell silent, glaring at each other malevolently. "Now that you two have decided to behave..."

"Nitwit," the girl hissed.

"Hussy," the boy spat back.

"Excuse me," McGonagall cleared her throat again. "Hagrid, perhaps you should stay with our...good grief, boy! What happened to your face?"

The dripping boy immediately ducked his head, his red-haired nemesis smirking. "I had...er...that is to say..."

"They was fighting on the train, Professor!" a small, skinny black girl with robes that were far too big for her put in enthusiastically, pointing at the soaked boy and two others standing a short way behind Hagrid.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, counting to ten under her breath, as she looked from one abashed face to another. 

Not one of them looked like they had been able to defend themselves: the red-haired boy had a rather impressive black eye. The sandy-haired one had a swollen nose and a black eye to match, although his eye wasn't as impressive as the red head's and the brown-haired, bedraggled looking boy who had fallen in the lake had a split lip, swollen nose and blacked eye.

"You were fighting?"

"Um..."

"Well, if...you...you could..."

"It was more of a game, I s'pose..."

Professor McGonagall was suddenly and quickly reminded why she was very glad to be female. Boys. Such a strange species. "And this game involved you beating the stuffing out of one another?"

"We didn't!" the red-haired boy began to protest, until he got an elbow in the ribs from his sandy-haired neighbour, who cast a look down at him. "Well...um...maybe we did a little..."

"They were making a frightful racket, Professor," the red-haired girl remarked smugly, from where she was swinging peacefully from side-to-side from Hagrid's hand by her robes. "Why don't you tell the lovely Professor what happened?"

All three boys glared at her.

Minerva wanted to laugh. Oh, she really wanted to laugh. Her eyes went to the face of the little red-haired girl, who had crossed her arms over her chest and was smirking as if she had just been crowned Queen of the World.

Surely that little girl...

"I'm sure that is unnecessary, Miss..."

"Henshaw."

Ah, it all made sense now. Georgiana's little sister.

"I have a fairly good idea of what happened," the Professor said, trying to think of something that would take her mind of having a good old giggle that one of the first years girls had soundly pummelled three larger boys. 

Unfortunately, the most serious image she could conjure up was Albus Dumbledore and with that infernal twinkle in his blue eyes, how on earth was she meant to take anything even a little bit seriously?

Keeping her lips thinned - it distracted her from the giggle fit she could sense building - she looked around at them sternly. 

"Now, it's my duty to tell you about what happens from here. In a few moments you will pass through those doors," she motioned towards tall doors behind her. "And join your classmates. However, first you will have to be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin."

"The Sorting Ceremony is one of great importance, because - while you attend this school - your house will be like your family. With your triumphs and your failures you can and will earn or lose points for your house. The house with the most points at the end of the year will win the house cup."

Moving into her standard speech, her eyes moved around the faces of the rest of the pupils, taking in the wide variety of backgrounds and appearances, although there were a few that she had heard about.

A slender blonde girl, who was fairly tall for her age, caught the Deputy Head Mistress' eye. First years, Minerva's mental voice screamed in envy, should not look that bloody pretty.

The girl, however, was distracted by a young man a little further down the group, who was shooting equally furtive looks at her: he was also tall for his age, with silver-blonde hair, a pointed face and grey eyes.

A Malfoy.

Wonderful...

A Henshaw and a Malfoy in the same year.

No, this wasn't going to an interesting age-band. Not at all.

Especially judging by the arrogant look on the Malfoy's face. Something told Minerva that it would be rather...interesting - and quite possibly fatalistic - to see how the fiery little red-haired girl responded to him.

By the time she finished speaking, Hagrid seemed to have decided that Henshaw had cooled down enough, depositing her back on her feet and letting her smooth out her sodden, rumpled robes.

The boy, not from any family that Professor McGonagall recognised, was shooting hurt looks at the red head, making the teacher wonder if little Henshaw had possibly been mistaken in her assumption that he really pushed her overboard.

However, when he looked back to his friends – unaware of the Deputy Head Mistress watching him – she saw something in his glittering green eyes that made her want to walk straight out of the castle, across the grounds and hurl herself into the lake, for the sake of her own sanity, if nothing else.

This year just seemed to be getting worse and worse, before it even started.

A Malfoy.

A Henshaw.

A blonde supermodel of an eleven-year-old.

A boy who looked like an angel and had a glint in his eye that only fitted a devil...

The Sorting looked like it was going to be...interesting.

***

"I'm not putting that thing on my head!" it was the damp, brown-haired boy who exclaimed it, staring at the Sorting Hat with distaste. His already wavy hair was drying in a mass of unruly curls, which only made him look even more impish. "For all I know, any one of you might have nits and I would rather not have nits!"

"Don't be ridiculous, boy," Professor McGonagall sighed patiently, risking a glance up at Dumbledore, who was - as she had expected - giggling behind his hand. "The Sorting Hat would never tolerate the presence of headlice."

"It's a hat! It wouldn't care!" The red-haired boy who was standing near him tapped his shoulder and muttered something to the dripping boy. Understanding crossed the boy's face. "Well, if it's magic..."

Mentally counting from one to ten in English, then Latin, then Greek, then pig-Latin for good measure, Professor McGonagall unrolled the scroll she was carrying, which bore the names of all of the first years. 

"When I read out your name," she announced, her eyes flashing down at the trio of boys who were whispering to one another. "You will step forward and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head...Andrews, Felicity..."

While various pupils passed beneath the Hat, Minerva couldn't help but notice that the trio of boys were still whispering and looking in the direction of the blanket-decked red head girl.

"Giles, Rupert."

The brown-haired boy ran up the step, towards the stool where the Sorting Hat sat, his shoes squelching on the floor, spurts of lake-water erupting from them and leaving shiny puddles wherever he stepped. 

Placing the Hat on his head, McGonagall pursed her lips. 

If any boy was ever meant to be in Slytherin it was...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"WHAT!?!" Almost every eye in the Hall shot to the Deputy Head Mistress, as she screeched that single syllable. 

She bent and weakly pulled the hat off the boy's head. She honestly did look like she wanted a house to drop out of the sky of the Enchanted ceiling to squash her, in the way that the best witches died.

Giles stood up and gave her a grin that was anything but the innocent expression he had had when protesting his innocence to Henshaw. "Looks like I'm in your house, Professor," he said with a serious tone that was belied by his eyes.

Minerva McGonagall had never seriously contemplated running and screaming from a pupil, until that moment.

"Yes," she said, her voice stiff as she tried to conceal her panic. At least it was just him. At least she only had to deal with one. The others...well, as long as she just had to tolerate one of them. "Take your seat, boy."

Gordon, Mark and Guthrie Helen both followed the Giles boy, then McGonagall read out, "Henshaw, Morrigan."

Heavy blankets trailing behind her as she also squelched up to the stool, she sat down in as lady-like a fashion as she could, raising her eyes to watch the Sorting Hat come down on her head.

McGonagall wanted to break down and cry in a corner. Already. They had looked like they wanted to kill each other in the Entrance Hall. They were probably going to be enemies of the rest of their school life. 

Henshaw was about to get put...well, there was only house that Henshaw's family had ever been in and there wasn't a chance that it was going to change now...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Lifting the Hat off the girl's head, McGonagall tried to look vaguely delighted that she had another pupil.

Unfortunately, she only looked like she had a severe bout of constipation.

Stumbling off the stool and down the steps, the red-haired girl paused to give the tiny dark girl a warm, yet everso slightly damp, hug, before walking towards the empty spots at the Gryffindor table.

There were four open spaces on the side where Giles had sat, and five on the opposite side. Unsurprisingly, Henshaw took the very end seat at the opposite side of the table from the politely smiling brown-haired boy.

If they didn't kill each other in the first night, it was going to be a hellish year.

Moving on down the list, she finally reached "Jacobs, Cathlee" and the small, dark girl darted up eagerly, but could barely manage to climb up onto the tall stool until the blonde girl hurried forward and gave her a leg-up.

The Hat had barely skimmed her dark hair when it yelled out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Smashing!" the girl squealed. "Badgers are fabo!" Flinging herself off the stool, with a quick wave in Henshaw's direction, she skipped down the step and towards the Hufflepuff table.

It was several minutes before the next of the pupils she had been observing stepped up: Malfoy, Lucius. As he turned to sit on the stool, his eyes scanned coolly around the hall, his upper lip curling.

Pursing her lips, Minerva brought the hat down towards his head.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Oh, what a shock _that_ was.

Smirking as if he had just been proclaimed King-of-the-Universe-and-then-some, Malfoy slinked off the stool and strutted towards the table at the far side of the Hall, where he was heartily welcomed.

"McKinnon, Virginia."

Blushing furiously, after being poked by several people, she tore her eyes away from the Malfoy boy and hurried up to sit to the stool, apprehensively raising her eyes as the Sorting Hat was lowered onto her head.

A minute passed...

And another...

The rest of the pupils were watching with fascination, as the hat's 'face' twisted, as if it was deep in consideration. Professor McGonagall was as curious as they were, wondering what could be possibly taking so long.

Henshaw and Jacobs in particular were watching with concern.

"RAVENCLAW!"

McKinnon looked strangely disappointed as she slid off the stool and made her way towards the Ravenclaw table, which stood next to the Slytherin table. 

Making her way around to the side closest to the Slytherins, she carefully sat down, accepting handshakes and smiles from her new housemates. However, she looked over her shoulder and went pink when Malfoy glanced at her and raised a brow.

Silly girl, Professor McGonagall thought as she sighed and returned her eyes to the register scroll.

It was only when she reached the 'R' names, that her fear started return, when she called out "Rayne, Ethan."

If Rupert Giles, with his devilish green eyes and wicked grin, had been frightening to contemplate teaching, it was easily matched by the naughty sparkle in this gangly, sandy-haired boy's hazel eyes.

"All right, luv?" he asked, then actually winked at her!

More forcefully than was absolutely necessary, Minerva McGonagall slammed the Sorting Hat down on his head, wishing she could push it down far enough to suffocate the cheeky young man.

He just grinned the wider for it.

First years, she decided, had the maturity of a wet gym sock.

"GRYFFINDOR!"  
Minerva's mouth fell open in shock, panic and dismay. What did the bloody Hat think it was doing? Were they bribing it? Did it want to give her heart failure before the year was out?

Rayne grinned at her as she lifted the hat off his head. "Looking a bit off-colour, there, Professor," he remarked, then stuck his tongue in his cheek as he sauntered off to join the smirking Rupert Giles at the Gryffindor table.

Henshaw was looking as horrified as she felt.

Both of the boys, seated side-by-side after Giles had cheerfully told one of the other first years to scoot up, were looking at the red-haired girl in a way that - had Minerva been in her shoes - would have been enough to make her run all the way home.

It suddenly made her very glad to know that she did actually hold some kind of level of authority over them, even if they were the worst pair of torags that she was ever liable to lay eyes on.

The spaces at the tables were rapidly filling and soon, there was only one person left to be sorted: a short, red-haired boy who was looking nervously at the two spaces that remained on two of the house tables.

There was one space in Gryffindor, the seat was right beside Henshaw, and one open in Slytherin.

Henshaw's eyes narrowed at the boy, who went white as a sheet. 

He looked towards the Slytherin table again, as if trying to measure up what was the worst option: the psychotic-looking red head currently glaring at him, or the notorious Slytherin group.

"Weasley, Arthur," McGonagall read out.

Reluctantly, the boy plodded up to the stool and sat down, only to be saluted with a cry from the Gryffindor table, "We're waiting for you, Art!"

A second voice added, "Yeah! C'mon, mate!"

"Oh dear God..." Minerva moaned to herself. This poor, sweet-looking little boy had been taken under the wing of those two...ruffians? Giving the hat a shake, she placed it on his head.

"Come on, Art, come on..." Giles was chanting, leaning forward on the broad wooden table. His green eyes were alight and he was grinning that devilish grin. "You know you want to be in our group...come on..."

The sandy-haired boy was drumming his hands on the table. "Go on, Red!" he called out enthusiastically. "Tell that Hat where to go stick it's brim and get your freckled arse over here!"

"Rayne!"

"Sorry, Professor," he said without a drop of sincerity, flashing a grin up at the Deputy Head Mistress. "And did I say how well that colour brings out your eyes?"

Her lips thinned again, her nostrils flaring and she could feel her fingers just itching to whip out her wand and transfigure the irritating little...

He would make a very fetching spider...or a beetle. Yes! A beetle. A scurrying little beetle, Minerva decided, upon which she would accidentally stand and twist her toe to grind him to a messy paste on the floor. 

All accidentally, of course.

After all, the Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts would never dream - or even fantasise - of squashing annoying pupils.

At least, she wouldn't admit to it.

Letting a long rush of air stream from her nostrils, she turned her eyes back to the young Weasley boy, who was gripping onto the edges of the stool for dear life, his knuckles white.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Fortunately for McGonagall, the next word, which voiced her very thoughts was cried out by a small, red-haired girl, "Damn!"

Scooting off the stool, Weasley was scarlet in the face and shuffled nervously over towards the Gryffindor table, where Henshaw narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips at him, as he cautiously approached the only available space.

"D-do you mind if I sit here?" he stammered.

Henshaw's glare spoke measures, but she still pulled the blankets that were wrapped around her off the seating space. 

"Don't even think about looking at me," she said dangerously, pointing a small, feminine finger at him. "And if you even try to remember what my knickers look like, I promise I'll bash you."

"Are you gonna let her talk to you like that, Red?" Rayne demanded.

Weasley looked at the girl, one hand rising to finger his black eye, then he turned his eyes back to the other two boys on the other side of the table. "Um..." He looked at Henshaw again. "Y-yes...I-I don't want to get thumped again... "

"And when did you see her knickers anyway?" Giles demanded.

A finger came up under Weasley's nose. "Not one word," she cautioned.

"I-i-it was an accident!" the red-haired boy squeaked. "You were standing where I could see!"

"WEASLEY!"

McGonagall raised her eyes towards the enchanted ceiling with a groan as the red-haired girl caught the red-haired boy in a headlock worthy of any street fighter and started slapping at the top of his head.

"All I ask," the Professor murmured desperately. "Is to get through this year alive..."


End file.
